30 Days of Johnlock Wonderfulness
by iris.chandler45
Summary: First time ever writing fan fiction. 30 Day OTP Challenge. Johnlock. Nothing too bad for now
1. Holding Hands

**Hey so I've never written fan fiction before…but I've read a lot of it!**

**Anyway, this is for the 30 Day OTP Challenge with Johnlock as my OTP.**

**Review it and stuff, people.**

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Sherlock flexed his fingers in front of his face, his sandwich sitting untouched on the table.

"Are you going to eat that?"

"No."

"Can I have it?"

"No."

"I have never met someone so intelligent who was so much like a child."

"You've never met someone so intelligent period." John glared at him and reached out his hand to grab the sandwich. Sherlock's hand slammed down on top of John's, pinning it to the table. "I said you couldn't have it."

"Sherlock, I'm not going to let it go to waste."

"I said you couldn't have it." Sherlock glared back with those strange green-gray eyes.

"Let go of my hand, Sherlock." Sherlock's hand remained firmly in place, while the other grabbed the sandwich and raised it to his mouth. He took a small bite out of the crust and chewed slowly.

"Not bad." John rolled his eyes and tugged at his hand. Sherlock relieved some of the pressure on John's hand, but then curled his fingers around and under the doctor's rough hand. John breathed in deeply through his nose and out slowly through his mouth.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm eating my sandwich." There was no twist of a smile on the corner's of the thin mouth, which promptly took another bite out of the sandwich. John nearly, yes so nearly, jumped up, whipped his hand away, and yelled "I'm not gay!" Something stopped him though, and he left his hand there, linked with Sherlock's in the middle of the table between them, and ate his sandwich.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

**So, second chapter. I had written this, but then I accidentally deleted it. (I'll just blame my computer for that one.)**

**Yeah, review please. And enjoy!**

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Cuddling Somewhere:

The rain poured down on London, making everything shine as two men walked towards 221 Baker Street. John's teeth were chattering from the cold wetness, which had soaked through his jacket, jumper, and shirt. Sherlock Holmes on the other hand seemed oblivious to the frigid air and water. Of course, he had his collar popped up and his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, but those were not reserved for cold rainy days, and nevertheless he ignored the water droplets dripping off his now matted hair and rolling down his sharp cheekbones.

The pair reached the black door, nestled next to the sandwich bar, which was closed due to the late hour. John stood back and stared at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock stared back.

"Are you going to open the door?"

"You have the key."

"No, I don't."

"Sherlock, I clearly said 'Get the key' as were leaving."

"I wasn't listening."

"So we're locked out then?"

"Don't be mad at me. I wasn't the one who forgot the key."

"Yes, you-" John shook his head. "Bloody hell."

"On the upside, Ms. Hudson should be back in an hour or two."

John glared at Sherlock. "I don't want to stand outside in the pouring rain for an hour or two because you were too stupid to get the key. I've spent the whole bloody day chasing criminals around London, and all I want to do is go inside and change into dry clothes, and get a cup of tea, and watch crap telly. I don't want to stand here!" John wasn't one for temper tantrums, but he really was cold and tired of Sherlock not paying any attention to the little but important things.

Therefore, he was surprised when Sherlock's face dropped just a little. "I'm sorry." John's mouth hung open. He had only heard Sherlock apologize maybe twice in time he'd known the man.

"It's all right, I just-" John was cut off when the taller man wrapped his arms around John's soaking wet shoulders. "Sherlock, what are you…"

"Penguins huddle together the stay warm. The same thing should work for humans." Sherlock was strangely warm, despite the dampness of his coat. John freed his arms from where they, crossed, were pinned between himself and Sherlock and wrapped them around the man.

Ms. Hudson did return in an hour and a half, but until then, the two men stood there on Baker Street, acting as each other's penguins.


	3. Watching a Movie

Review please! Sherlockian Dreams - thanks for the reviews! They mean lots!

Also, I'm traveling this weekend and I'm not sure if I'll have wifi/time to write. I'll post if I can but otherwise I probably won't have another one until Tuesday or Wednesday.

Review! 3

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Watching a Movie:

A small wrinkle formed between Sherlock's eyebrows, and he raised one up to be higher than the other.  
"Which one do you want to see?" John raised both of his eyebrows. Sherlock rarely lacked an opinion. John stared at the seemingly endless rows of DVDs and realized he had no idea what he wanted to see. Life with Sherlock rarely left time or effort for watching movies. Sure, occasionally they would watch whatever was on TV, but it wasn't all that enjoyable as the detective insisted on pointing out every single error made in the show, as well as spoiling the endings. And Sherlock always dominated the remote. John further realized that it had been a long time since he had made a completely independent decision. It was always about what Sherlock needed and what Sherlock wanted. And then he realized that he really didn't mind. It was okay to do things for Sherlock because that made life interesting. It made his hand stop shaking and it made his leg keep working.  
"Mission Impossible. The new one."  
"Certainly the mission is not actually impossible. Movies always have happy endings." John was about to roll his eyes and tell Sherlock to stop being such an arse, but then he saw the tiny curl at the edges of his mouth. John smiled back. He snatched the DVD off the shelf and the two of them proceeded to the checkout line.

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John stuck the DVD into the side of his laptop and set it on the coffee table, which they had moved around so that the two armchairs both faced it. The opening scene played, with Tom Cruise escaping from prison. John looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to make some snarky comment about how, obviously, some aspect of the movie was off and therefore Cruise couldn't have escaped at all, and how the whole thing was utterly ridiculous, and do people really watch this for entertainment, and how it is absolutely unbelievable that people spend millions of dollars to make the damn movie and they still can't get it right. But he didn't. The theme played and he still didn't. All through the movie, he didn't. Through the action scenes, which even John could see the errors in, he didn't. And when the end credits rolled, Sherlock got up and started to walk towards his room, still without saying anything.  
"Sherlock?" The tall man turned around with an eyebrow raised. "Thank you."  
"For what?"  
"For just watching the movie and not commenting or ruining it."  
"Oh, yes. No problem at all. And I've solved that case Lestrade gave us yesterday." John nodded and turned away, whipping back around when he realized what Sherlock had said.  
"Wait, did you watch the movie at all."  
"Well, I saw it, but I didn't watch it really, no."  
"Of course you didn't."


	4. On a Date

**So thanks for continuing to read! I do have wifi and some time, so here's another chapter.**

**I know this seems like it's going to be Sherlolly, but it isn't! Promise!**

**Reviewwwww! :)**

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"Would you like to get dinner?"  
A small wrinkle formed between Sherlock's eyebrows. "It's only three o'clock, Molly. It's a bit early for dinner." Molly sighed. This was perhaps the tenth time she had tried to ask Sherlock out to dinner, or to coffee, or to get drinks. For someone so intelligent, he was shockingly oblivious. Of course, Molly knew he wasn't really oblivious. He probably knew exactly what she meant and intentionally misinterpreted her words to avoid going out with her. Frankly, it was damn frustrating. It wasn't like she was asking him to marry her or even be her boyfriend. All she was asking for was one date.  
"No, Sherlock. I mean after work. With me. On a date." Sherlock didn't turn around from his microscope, and Molly smiled, knowing that she had surprised him. The genius detective had underestimated Molly Hooper. He had never thought that she would come out and ask. He had thought that she would dance around it until she finally got bored, but she was better than that. And now she stared at the back of his head, waiting for him to respond to the question he hadn't expected.  
"I can't. I have plans."  
"No, you don't. You've got no friends, and I know that John has a date tonight because he told me. You don't have any cases going. I'll be by your flat at seven in a cab. Look decent." And with that, Molly swept out of the room feeling extremely proud of herself. She had stood up to Sherlock Holmes, something she thought she would never do.

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Sherlock walked into the living room, straightening the lapels on his jacket. John did the same.  
"Where are you going?"  
"I have a date." John raised his eyebrows. "With Molly," Sherlock added. John continued to stare for a few seconds and then nodded curtly and turned away to fix his tie. "Who's that girl you're going with? Jennifer?"  
"Yes."  
"I hope you have a very nice time."  
"Sherlock, why are you going to dinner with Molly? It's cruel to lead her on."  
"Perhaps I'm not." John felt something stick in his chest. He coughed, but it didn't go away. Sherlock peered out the window and then walked over to the door, grabbed his coat and scarf and left without a word.

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John sat in the restaurant, drumming his fingers on the table. Jennifer was talking about her sister or something, but for some reason John didn't seem to care. He couldn't figure out why – she was pretty, she seemed smart, she was funny. But he couldn't concentrate on her. He kept wondering how Sherlock and Molly's date was going, and if he had been serious when he said he wasn't leading her on.  
"I'm really sorry, Jennifer, but I have somewhere I have to be."  
"You – what? Why would you have scheduled a date for tonight if you had somewhere to be?"  
"Er…I'd forgotten about it."  
"Well, it can't be that important then."  
"It's actually quite important. I'm just forgetful."  
"Are you seriously going to leave in the middle of a date?"  
"Look, I'm really sorry." He slapped a 50 pound note on the table. "This should cover the check." He shrugged on his jacket. "I'll call you later."  
As he walked out of the restaurant, he was pretty sure he heard her mumble "don't bother," under her breath.

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Sherlock leaned back in his chair as the bell on the front door of the restaurant rang violently. She had insisted that they go out for dinner. If she was going to force him to waste his time on ridiculous activities, he was not going to make it easy or enjoyable. He didn't regret the tears that had streamed down her face as she stormed out of the restaurant at all, although his cheek still stung a bit from her hand slapping it in anger.  
After paying the check, he proceeded out to get a taxi, but just as he was hailing one he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He turned and saw John walking down the sidewalk toward him.  
"How did your date go?"  
"The same as yours, I'm guessing."  
"And how did you find me?"  
"This is Molly's favorite restaurant."  
"I see."  
"Angelo's?"  
"Let's go."  
And so they got into a taxi and went to go have another dinner together.


	5. Kissing

**Another chapter! Yay! **

**Thanks for the reviews! They made me smile. :)**

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****Kissing:

John woke to the sun streaming through the curtains. He yawned and stretched, rubbing his bad shoulder with a wince. The flat was unusually silent – no gunshots, no violin. John walked down the stairs, wrapping his bathrobe around himself as he went. The main room was empty. He checked Sherlock's room, which was also empty. John frowned. Sherlock rarely went anywhere without John. The doctor's concern increased when he noticed that Sherlock's phone was still on his bedside table.  
John started to feel a bit panicky. Sherlock's coat and scarf still hung by the door and his shoes were right beneath him. His heart started to beat very fast. When Sherlock had returned he had promised never to leave again. He had sworn it. But then, where was he. John shook his head manically. He couldn't have just left, because John couldn't handle not knowing again. He couldn't handle wondering where he was, or if he was anywhere at all. He felt that feeling of desolation that had been so predominant in his chest for three years creeping back in. His eyes grew a little bit hot.  
He could call the police, but what could they do? If Sherlock didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. And if someone had taken him – well, anyone good enough to take Sherlock Holmes was good enough to avoid the police.  
John paced back and forth, rubbing his temples with his thumbs, trying to decide what to do. The reminders of the time Sherlock had been gone in the apartment seemed to stand out now. He noticed the chunk out of the wall where his fist had taken out his anger at the selfish man for stealing John's best friend. The stain on the kitchen wall where John had thrown the second cup of tea he made without thinking. The tiny holes in Sherlock's bedroom door from when John had boarded his room shut. It was comical, John thought now, how he had been under the impression that by closing off Sherlock's room, that he could erase his memory.  
Grunting with frustration, he kicked over a coffee table by Sherlock's chair. At that same moment, the door to the flat opened and the tall, dark haired detective strolled in, wearing only a bathrobe and slippers. John gaped at him. Sherlock looked back, glancing bemusedly at the overturned coffee table.  
"John, what on earth happened?"  
"Where were you?"  
"I was outside taking a smoke. You really are horrible at hiding those cigarettes you know, but I thought I'd be considerate and not smoke in the flat." John, much to his own surprise, felt his feet move across the floor, in three long strides to Sherlock. His hands came up and grabbed those thin shoulders and, yanking him down, he pressed his lips roughly to the taller man's. Sherlock did not respond. He stood there, lips to John's, stock still. Regardless, John felt reassured by the fact that he did not push away. Sherlock's lips were soft and thin and seemed to fit perfectly with his.  
John pulled back and stared at those green-gray eyes for a moment and then brought his fist back and slammed it into one of those perfect cheekbones. The perfect man stumbled back a bit, but made no move to retaliate. He merely stood there, hand cupped to his cheek.  
"That," said John, suddenly realizing that he was breathing quite hard, "was for leaving me alone for three years."  
"Which part?"  
"Both."


	6. Wearing Each Other's Clothes

**Okay, hopefully the formatting is better on this one. Thanks for the reviews guys!**

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Ms. Hudson waved good night to Sherlock and John before ducking out to her own flat. It was Christmas Eve and the trio had been having some eggnog and exchanging gifts to open in the morning. Now it was late, and John was ready to go to bed.

"John?" John turned around and looked at Sherlock who appeared, shockingly, to be nervous. Nothing at all had happened since they had kissed. The sizable bruise on Sherlock's cheek had long since faded, as had the awkwardness that had ensued after John's spontaneous show of affection. "I was wondering if you wanted to go ahead and open my present to you. I know that it is traditional to open presents on Christmas morning, but since I'm a terribly untraditional person I thought…" He waved his hand vaguely through the air.

The quiver of anxiety in his voice made John wonder what on earth Sherlock might have gotten him. He was about to accept without consideration, when he realized that if he opened Sherlock's present early, it would be reasonable for Sherlock to also open his, and John wasn't sure he was ready for that yet.

"Um, alright. But I don't want you to open mine till tomorrow."

Sherlock cocked his head at the doctor. "Of course." He handed over a package, carefully wrapped in midnight blue wrapping paper, with a white ribbon on top. John weighed it in his hands for a moment, and then shamelessly tore into the paper. Inside was a white garment box. John gently pulled off the tape from the edges and eased the box open.

Inside was a black, two button coat, exactly the same as Sherlock's. John glanced up at the detective, who was standing over him, biting his bottom lip. John looked back at the coat for a second and then burst into laughter. Within seconds, tears were welling up in his eyes and he was doubled over, howling in hysterics.

"John, what's the matter? I thought…well I thought you'd like it." Sherlock sounded absolutely bewildered, which made John laugh even harder. John had been very careful not to let Sherlock touch or feel his present, but only to glimpse it.

"Open…" John gasped for breath. "Open your present." Sherlock, shaking his head, grabbed John's present from the mantle and tore it open. He, too, started laughing. John's gift was a brown jumper –the same brown jumper that John was wearing. He pulled it out and over his head. John yanked his new coat onto his shoulders.

"We'll have to…" Sherlock was now also trying to catch his breath, "We'll have to coordinate!"

The two grown men flew into another fit of giggles over their new apparel.


End file.
